I want to write, but once again I don’t know what about, so I looked through one of my collections of journaling prompts. One prompt that stood out to me was to finish the following thought: “My favorite place in the whole world is…”
As regular readers of this blog may know, I’m an inner wanderer. What this means is, I rarely if ever truly feel at home. The most safe I’ve ever felt was in the institution in Nijmegen but that, too, wasn’t home. I wasn’t supposed to stay there for life, after all.
I don’t even know whether the fact that I never feel at home anywhere – no, not even in my current home with my husband -, is a thing related to the physical place I am in. Of course, there are things my dream house has that this house doesn’t have – a bathtub, for example -, and of course there are many, many things I’d want close by that this tiny village doesn’t have. However, even in my dream house in my dream town, I’d probably still feel like something’s missing.
What was it in the institution that had me feel closest to home? It was, in part, the fact that I had support I could rely on, who saw me as I was. Then again, my husband sees me as I am too and tries to support me as much as he can when he’s home. Would I feel better if I had support nearby whenever he’s not home? Yes, I think so. But would that fill the void of never ever belonging anywhere? No.
This evening, I was sad because I don’t have a meaningful life. I mean, sure I go to day activities, but we barely do anything that has any sort of meaning beyond sensory stimulation there. That’s what the group is for, after all. My husband mentioned my blog, but I have little to write about. I have long let go of the illusion that I’ll ever have a real job, but I’d really like to make soap again. I know, I will never do it fully independently, and that’s sort of okay with me, but I haven’t done it in months at all. My husband said I could ask him to help me. Same for making smoothies or the like. That helps.
To conclude, I’d say my favorite place in the whole world is not a physical place. It’s a state of mind: that of being sort of content with my life.